Lord, why did I leave it so long?

“I’m ‘Nobbes’”, he said, shaking my hand with purpose. What an unfortunate name I thought while peering over his shoulder for my bags. I’m sure he’d met many knobs like me in his 25 years on the island, striding off planes, full of impatience and pushy metropolis manners. This earthy islander who fishes for his supper and grows his own food, knew how to handle blow-ins from the mainland. “Ease up ease up,” said Nobbes, you’re on Lord Howe Island time now.

His disarming statement put me at ease instantly. It had been 35 years since my last visit to Lord Howe and I feared it might have lost the carefree charm that is its passport. Within moments of arriving on the island, I discovered bicycles outnumbered cars, kids were allowed barefoot at school and the honesty-box was still in use at the golf club. Three ticks of approval and three to go to complete a six-pack of surprises on this World Heritage-listed gem, 600km northeast of Sydney.

You can climb a mountain, swim with fish and birdwatch on many islands, but on Lord Howe, this trio is all consuming: It begins with a full-day marathon climb to the summit of Mt Gower. The guided ascent of this imposing mountain, which stands alongside Mt Lidgebird at the southern end of the lagoon, is arduous, steep and slippery in parts. Litres of sweat are lost over the 14km round trip and thigh muscles ache in agony the day after, but every step is worth it. Kentia palms growing at arms length along sections of the crude track provide a handy hold and roped sections are invaluable as you straddle logs and scamper up and down exposed rock like a mountain goat.

At the top, 875 metres above sea level, you’ll enter the Mist Forest, and straight onto the set of Lord of the Rings. Here, gnarled and twisted limbs of trees provide the framework for a verdant landscape where ferns and orchids thrive and the once near-extinct Lord Howe Island Woodhen breeds in safety. Shafts of sunlight reveal exotic plant species whilst underfoot, a moist carpet of moss and leaf matter cushions every step within the eerie glen. This naturally landscaped environment has lured botanists and nature lovers from across the globe, including naturalist Sir David Attenborough.

The view outwards from the summit offers a mesmerising mix of turquoise, teal and deep blue water below. Caught in an eddy, your eyes drift from the lagoon past sharp slithers of coral reef to the open ocean and back again. On land, the colour spectrum moves through every shade of green, from dark and juicy to a lively iridescent palate of newness. It takes the shrill cry of a woodhen to divert my attention from the multihued panorama. There are plenty of less strenuous walks elsewhere on the island but conquering Mt Gower is a major feat that will remain etched in your mind and your muscles for ever.

At Ned’s Beach, more of the island’s endless reserve of natural beauty is on show. If the postcard view from the manicured lawn bordering the beach doesn’t hook you, the marine life will. At the southern end of the beach, the water often resembles a frenzied liquid full of glistening fins and flesh. This is one place where the scales of justice definitely favour aquatic dwellers. Angling is not permitted, instead visitors are encouraged to hand feed bread to masses of fish of all shapes and sizes in the shallows. Sea Mullet and Wrasse dive in between your hands for the crumbs, before large silver drummer, trevally and metre-long kingfish muscle in and lunge for their share of food. The close encounters can be daunting but donning a mask and snorkel and swimming amongst this fishy cocktail is one of the most pulsating experiences on the island.

At dusk, Ned’s Beach plays host to a bird show of Hitchcock proportions. Hundreds of Muttonbirds (Flesh-footed and Wedge-tailed Shearwaters wheel in the air above the beach and prepare to land. With their bellies full of food after a day spent at sea, the brown-coloured bombers hurtle in from all angles, some crashing through a canopy of palms, others touching down on the lawn only to have their webbed undercarriage give way in the process. Once composed, and with wings outstretched, the birds taxi awkwardly to the entrance of their burrows where they squark for hours before kicking sand in your face and disappear underground. Repeated each night, the comical act is a must to witness under torchlight.

Myriad chance encounters with wildlife on Lord Howe Island make returning to a structured existence in the city somewhat banal. There’s a lot to like about island life. And with stories of Nobbes tending to his veges and reeling-in kilos of fresh kingfish into his tinny, there’s no wonder he’s switched to Lord Howe Island time.